Between the Lines
by Salmagundi
Summary: Written for the Valentalia Event on LJ. Romano had already realized out he was in love with Spain, so why was it taking Spain so long to figure it out?


Between the Lines

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A/N: I wrote this as my Valentalia gift to Illucien.

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The trouble with Spain, he thought, was that the bastard was about as perceptive as a box of rocks. Who else would have been so slow to catch on to the perfectly obvious? Romano's eyes narrowed, his cheeks flushed a red almost as bright as the tomatoes Spain liked so much. Spain was staring at him, green eyes wide, jaw hanging a little slack and dear God, if he didn't get it now, with Romano dressed up for all of his sick little fantasies then there was going to be a reckoning.

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It had all begun rather simply - and of course, it was all Spain's fault. See, at some point Romano discovered that he had actually started to like the bastard. Okay... not _'like'_ exactly... he wasn't sure 'like' was quite the word to describe the fluttery feeling in his belly whenever Spain was near. 'Like' also fell a little short of really quantifying the sense of warmth that flickered through him whenever Spain said something flattering to him, or brought him fresh-made churros. And the word certainly did nothing to explain how Romano would wake up nights - panting and sweating with images of Spain still lingering in his head...

Turns out, 'like' wasn't really 'like'. And it took a while for Romano to admit to himself that maybe 'like' might have been something a bit more like 'love'.

_Caro Dio...!_ He was in love with Spain!

Of course, once it was obvious to him, it was a short step to the conclusion that it should have been obvious to Spain too, or so Romano's logic went. Unfortunately, Spain didn't seem to be with the program, because he was still treating Romano the same way he always had. The way Romano's cheeks would turn red when Spain was around did nothing to clue him in.

Even when he finally gathered up both his wits and his civility, attempting to compliment Spain to show his affections more clearly, it still fell on deaf ears. "Feh," He'd said, never quite looking directly at the other nation. "I guess... you're... not as stupid as I thought you were. Bastard!" He added a bit of extra oomph to this last, just so they were clear on the point that while Romano was in love with Spain, that didn't mean he was going to turn into a mushy puddle of goo just from being around the man. Well... not on the outside at least...

And this declaration of his innermost feelings did not lead to Spain sweeping him up in his arms and showering him with the sort of attentions that had Romano writhing and whimpering some nights, praying that he hadn't upset God too much the mornings after. What Spain did, instead, was to look at him with a puzzled expression that slowly melted into a smile. "_Gracias_, Romano."

Clearly, Romano was going to have to be a bit less subtle in his approach...

And so began Operation "Woo the stupid bastard".

Spain, as it turned out, was a very hard nation to woo. He accepted offerings of food with a grin and a wave, just like always. Never mind that Romano was always the one cooking - these were cooked with love, damn it! Wasn't he able to taste the difference?!

Taking a page from his brother's book, Romano began to hang out with Spain more often, sidling near the other nation, arms crossed and his most fearsome scowl on his face. Spain cast him a look whenever he did so, a little confused, a little nervous, but he said nothing about this unaccustomed proximity.

He'd tried asking Spain to play soccer with him - it always worked on Germany whenever his idiot brother did it - but instead of noticing during their match that Romano was going easy on him - out of love! - Spain went at the game like it was a war. And then he had the nerve to give a pleased grin at the end, after he'd won, and say "Good game." Like things were normal.

Feh.

He was beginning to think Spain was incapable of being seduced.

It was shortly after he'd come to this conclusion - and it didn't make him sad, just royally pissed off - that he came across Spain and France talking. He was going to march right up there and confront Spain over... well... he was sure he could think of something to take the other nation to task over, except... well.... he was talking to France, and Romano had no intention of getting anywhere near the Wine Bastard. So he skulked around the corner instead, kicking one foot at the ground and occasionally casting dark looks in their general direction. They'd been chattering long enough that he was about ready to leave and try again later, when the sound of his own name caused him to draw up short.

"Romano?" Spain was saying, with an enthusiasm he hadn't heard in the bastard's voice when Spain had been talking directly to him. "Si, he was adorable as a child! Every time I saw him in his little maid outfit, I just wanted to pick him up and cover him with kisses!"

Romano didn't hear what France had to say in reply to that, he was too preoccupied with the pounding of his own heartbeat, drowning in the rush of blood rising to his cheeks. So that was what Spain liked? Sick bastard! On the spot, Romano swore to himself that he was _never_ going to get dressed up in a girly maid out fit again just to get Spain to clue in to his affections. Never. It wasn't going to happen!

A week later, with Hungary hemming his skirt and cooing over how adorable he was in these clothes, Romano was still convinced he wasn't going to to do this.

He stood in the doorway, waiting for Spain to look up from what he was doing and notice him standing there. Just notice me, you asshole! I went through all this trouble, it's the least you can do. When minutes passed and Spain was still showing no signs of having seen him standing there, the Italian cleared his throat.

"Hold on just a moment, Romano-" Spain began, glancing up from his ledger, "I've just got to-" His voice came to a halt, green eyes bright with shock. Romano gave a soft cough, embarrassed, lowering his gaze with his brows furrowing a little and hands plucking fretfully at the apron of his dress. Silence stretched out long and lingering. Romano's discomfort mounted as Spain still said nothing.

This was about the moment where the thought about Spain's similarity to a box of rocks came in.

And it was then that the realization really sank in, only a few weeks after it had struck him to begin with. He _loved_ Spain.

Sure, he'd already known that but he hadn't considered what it meant, aside from the obvious 'seduce Spain' goal setting of earlier. It felt like there was a large hand constricting his chest. He loved Spain. But it was looking more and more like Spain didn't love him back. _Fuck._ Romano took a step backward, stiff-legged, to hide the rubbery feeling of shock coursing through his limbs. He pushed the door shut and stalked down the hallway toward his own room.

_Idiot!_ He glowered at his own reflection in the mirror, so ludicrous dressed up in pink ruffles. The hem of the dress came to just below his knees, showing off the long white stockings beneath. It didn't look sexy, he thought, anger bubbling in him. It just made him look stupid. One hand snatched up a book from the bedside table, preparing to fling it at the mirror - wanting to break it so he wouldn't have to see himself like this.

A knock at the door stilled the motion before he could follow through with it. Instead, he chucked the book at the slowly opening door - bastard hadn't even waited for him to answer! His aim was poor, the hard-backed novel slamming up against the door frame and sliding to the floor.

Spain's expression might have been funny if Romano had been at all in a mood for humor. "Romano-" he began, hesitant, freezing as the Italian's hand went for another throwable object.

"Shut up bastard!" Romano snarled, cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and humiliation.

Normally this was where Spain would have either gotten wise and left him to his own devices, or gotten suicidal and tried to comfort him with hugs and sweets. But this time he did neither, just standing in the doorway, confusion etched plainly across his features. "What's wrong, Romano?" He asked finally, his voice tinged with a sense of desperation, and a faint worried note that made the Italian's insides twist oddly. "You've been acting odd for the last couple of weeks-" So, he had noticed after all!

Romano's eyes narrowed, but he gave his head a shake. "Now you ask me?" And though he was trying to be angry, the words came out more sullen than anything.

"I-" Spain seemed at a loss for words, but that was okay because Romano had plenty to say.

It tumbled out in a rush, all the things he'd done, the attempts at affection, the food, the god damned dress - how could you not tell something like that when someone put on a dress just for you? - and concluded with a long string of swear words and "-and I did it all for you, you hard-headed bastard!"

"Wait." Spain was staring at him as though he'd grown another head. "Back up a moment. What did you say?"

"I said I love you, idiot! And you didn't even notice! I made you food that wasn't pasta! How could you not notice?!" He was preparing to launch into another tirade when he was drawn up short by a soft chuckle from the object of his rage. Romano blinked a few times, golden-brown eyes widening as red crept back into his cheeks - anger red. Humiliation red. What the hell was so funny? "Why are you laughing at me, you insensitive jackass?!"

Spain gave his head a slight shake, his efforts to get himself back under a semblance of control were obvious and not entirely successful. At last he coughed gently into his palm, looking at Romano with a glint of humor still in his eyes, a smile playing about the edges of his lips. "Only you, Romano-" He began, his tone laced with a gentle amusement. "Only you could make it so hard to tell you're in love with me."

Romano sputtered at this nonsense - tried to form a few more creative terms for Spain, perhaps regarding the minuscule size of certain intimate parts of Spain's body and the uncouth sexual practices that the other nation's parents had engaged in to result in his birth (something involving goats) - but he was cut off as Spain took the initiative for once, stepping forward and sliding his hands down to rest on Romano's waist, tugging the Italian against him and cutting off any protests with a kiss.

And that thing that hadn't happened before - the melting - well, it happened now. Romano felt his insides dissolving into a warm goo. So instead of punching Spain like he should have, he leaned in to the kiss. It lasted long enough that he was gasping for air as they pulled back, a flush still on his cheeks, but this time it wasn't because of anger, no matter how much he wanted to insist it was. "So it's the dress that turns you on? Perverted old man!" Not that he was complaining, mind you, not if it was going to get him what he wanted.

A slow blink, Spain seeming as dazed as Romano for a moment. Then he smiled, slow and lazy, his green eyes a couple shades darker than usual. "It's not the dress. It's the nation inside," He mumbled the words, soft enough that it took Romano a moment to piece together what he was trying to say. Once he did, his heart did a little flip in his chest. How unfair - that Spain could get across 'I love you' with just that one sentence, when it had taken Romano nearly four weeks.

Hands shifted, sliding to cup his bottom through the ruffled fabric, pulling him closer. Spain's green eyes were hazy-dark as he flicked his tongue lazily across Romano's lips - a faint smirk. "Hmm... but the dress is nice too..." He purred the words, sending flickers of heat along Romano's nerve endings. "I think I like you in this - it's like old times."

"Not too much like old times, you bastard." Romano gasped as a hand slid somewhere that only his own hand had gone before, his cheeks flushing a bright red. "You never did this before."

"I never thought of doing this before." Spain breathed against his ear. "But I'll be thinking of it whenever I see you in this from now on."

And just like that, Romano's resolve to never wear the damn thing again flew right out the window. If it led to Spain ravishing him like this, he'd wear it every day. Every other day. Well... whenever he got a desperate need for Spain's hands on him. ..He guessed that would be every day, then.

Spain was lucky Romano loved him so much, that was all he could say. _Stupid jerk._

-End-

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End Notes/Translations: (I apologize in advance if these are wrong)  
Caro Dio...! - "Dear God...!"  
Gracias - "Thank you"  
Si - "Yes"

I've never written this pairing before, so it was quite a challenge for me!


End file.
